


Nothing You Can Do

by iamavacado



Series: Some Sanders Sides Stories [13]
Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-04
Updated: 2018-08-04
Packaged: 2019-06-21 12:14:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15557487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iamavacado/pseuds/iamavacado
Summary: What happens when the perfect person fails?





	Nothing You Can Do

**Author's Note:**

> I understand if this seems unfinished. It's more of a concept. What would happen if Logan failed something? You're free to expand on this, make a new story, add on to it. (Tag me tho, i wanna see). Because i dont own the idea, of course.

First, it was Patton.

He asked Logan quite a simple question. And while it was a simple answer, the answer itself didn't seem so in character for someone like Logan, who was obsessed with self care.

“I’m making dinner Logan!” he called from the kitchen. “It's your night to pick, what do you want?”

Roman was prepared to groan at whatever he chose, but he didn't have to. Logan walked past with a single paper clutched in his hands. It was being wrinkled held in his fists.

“Not hungry,” he said without pausing his steps. Before Patton could ask him if he was sure, he was in his room with the door shut. 

Then it was with Virgil.

The clock was nearing two a.m. Logan and he were the only ones who weren't asleep yet. It didn't happen too often, but it wasn't an unheard of occurrence.

Virgil lost track of time, and was watching a show on his phone, while Logan was absorbed in a book. It was one he'd read before. And Virgil couldn't prove his theory, but he was halfway certain that Logan was either reading the same page over and over again, or he couldn't finish a single paragraph.

He stood up, stretching his limbs with a yawn. “Hey Logan,” Virgil said, “we should go to bed. It's late.” He noticed that there was something on the middle Logan's glasses. Was that tape?

“Not tired,” Logan said without looking up. Something about his tone drove Virgil to bed without questioning him more.

After that, it was Roman.

“Hey Specs, it's movie night. Pick one.” He went for the cabinet and unlatched it, trying to guess which one he'd pick. 

Logan was cross legged on the couch, book in hand. However, a paper was peeking over the top. He slammed the book shut and stood. “Not. Interested.” He walked out of the living room down the hall towards the bedrooms before anyone could reply.

_Not tired. Not hungry. Not interested. Not listening. Not going. Not trying._

It didn't take a genius to figure it out; something was wrong.

***

It wasn't enough that he saw it on the computer screen. It wasn't enough that he met with two separate advisors, his professor, and a supervisor. It wasn't enough that they all told him that it was impossible he'd gotten any other result than the one that showed up on his card. It wasn't enough.

He had to print it out and take it home. He had to frame it and put it on his wall. Then he had to break the frame open and tear the paper apart. He had to crumple it up and throw it away. He had to reprint out thousands of copies and tape them on the ceiling of his bedroom. He had to read it over and over again until it became meaningless, and therefore became no issue. He had to remind himself of his failure until his last breath left him.

“I'm sorry Logan,” his professor had said, “I've worked with you all semester. You've done your work diligently, I know that. But it doesn't change the fact that you failed.”

Logan had been sitting in the chair with his hands clasped in his lap. He was digging his nails into his palm. Maybe if he dug hard enough, he could tear the failing grade right out of himself. “It's impossible,” he said. His voice was measured. Calm and precise words. He looked at his professor's nose instead of her eyes. “I've been here every day. I've done every assignment. I've gotten a tutor. I've taken every test. It's im _possible.”_

She looked at him. But Logan didn't see sympathy. All he saw was _pity._ “I'm sorry Logan. There's nothing I can do.”

The words banged around inside his skull. “Nothing you can do,” Logan repeated, slightly dazed. 

“I'm sorry.”

He stood, gaze falling to the floor. He moved slow, like if he went too fast, he'd break. He was mumbling. “Nothing...you…” he cleared his throat. A small sound. Without looking at the professor, he said, “Thank you for...this meeting.”

He stood up to leave, and was at the door frame when his professor stopped him.

“Logan?” she called from her desk. He turned around. She was standing now.

Logan stopped at the library and printed it out. He couldn't bear to use the one at the school. He folded it in half and put it in the visor of his car on the way home. The corner of the paper peeked out as he drove down the familiar road. It seemed to mock him. Tease him. Remind him. _Nothing you can do!_

It then spent the rest of the ride home in the back seat, under his satchel. Logan halfway wished that it would be crushed into dust under the weight of his textbooks.

***

Once home, Logan walked to his room without a greeting or a word. The paper was in his hands, crumpling at the edges due to his hard grip. Patton saw that he'd walked through the door, and said some inane comment about dinner. Logan didn't even dignify him with a look. He said he wasn't hungry, then went down the hall, and hoped they didn't hear him slam his bedroom door.

Once the door was shut, he fell against it, and slid down to the floor, knees against his chest. He stared at the paper in his hands. He looked at the name of the class--Anthropology, one of his favorites--then his eyes scanned over to the right, over the name of his professor, the room number, the CRN code, and finally…

_Nothing you can do!_

His grade.

Logan didn't cry often. In fact, he could count on his fingers how many times he's cried. 

When he was a child, he broke his leg falling into a stream. A few years later, his grandfather passed away. As a teen, he cried when he watched his pet hamster scurry into his backyard, only to be injured--and eventually killed--by his much larger dog. He cried when he burned his arm attempting to cook. And finally, he cried the first night he was away from home, at his college dorm. 

And now? He was crying over this failing grade.

Tears welled up quicker than Logan anticipated, and they were falling before he could even blink. In a flash of anger at his immaturity, he ripped off his glasses and threw them as hard as he could across the room. They hit the wall. He thought he heard something snap, but he didn't care. All he cared about was this damn paper clutched in his fingers. The words were blurry now, but he knew what they said anyway. He knew that his failure was indicated on that sheet. 

Everything felt blurry now. 

Logan cursed at himself, and let his head fall forward, forehead resting on his knees. He ripped the paper in as many pieces as he could. Maybe if he erased any traces of his failure on paper, he could make it a reality. But he knew. Now wasn't the time to fantasize. 

He put his palms against his eyes, and stopped resisting the urge to sob. 

It wasn't that he failed. Failure stalked in the night and hid under his bed, but he could handle it. He could fail. He could deal with failure. Because usually, failure to finish something meant failure to complete a task necessary to succeed. It was user error. It was a mistake. Mistakes are _fixable._ With work, determination, new perspectives, the failure can be _rectified._

No. This wasn't regular failure. Because Logan had given it his all. He had completed every assignment, every test. He'd attended class every day, made weekly meetings with his professor. He'd studied--oh, how he'd studied. He got a tutor. He did everything in his power to ensure success. And yet? Here he was. Having failed. It didn't matter how much he'd tried, because he failed anyway. There was…

There was nothing he could do.

**Author's Note:**

> Comment?


End file.
